


You Know You'll Never Leave Me

by SeedsOfWinter



Series: Liar [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Awkward Flirting, Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, He/Him Pronoun for Shadwell, Heartbreak, Historically Accurate Implied Homophobia, Our Side Zine, Past Relationship(s), She/Her Pronouns for Madame Tracy, alcohol consumption, historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeedsOfWinter/pseuds/SeedsOfWinter
Summary: With Tracy offering comfort and understanding, the re-heartbroken Corporal Shadwell tells her the truth about his ex.
Relationships: Shadwell & Tracy, Young Shadwell/Crowley
Series: Liar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976623
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25
Collections: Our Side Zine: Coming Out 2020





	You Know You'll Never Leave Me

April 1973

Witchfinder Corporal Thomas Shadwell had lived in the flat in Crouch End barely more than a month when he received a call from Mister Crowley for a job. Tom was never sure how his ex-partner got the number, if the Army had given it to him or if he’d been keeping tabs on him—too much wishful thinking in that. But he took the work, because the money was good. The money was always good with Tony. Too good. Easy work for the kind of dough he could hardly pull down in a few months at his perfectly legitimate locksmith business.

So he tailed the mark through the morning and afternoon. He performed a bit of breaking but not entering on a swank home in a nice part of Highbury. They met after, the redhead slinking into the bar and sidling up to him like they were two strangers chancing upon the smoky joint.

Crowley ordered a shot of whisky and a sidecar, sliding the shot down to Tom, who watched him raise the cocktail to his lips, hesitating before the sip.

“It’s done, is it?”

Tom gulped at the sound of that voice, dusky and smooth and _there_ , not crackling over the phone lines. “Aye,” he said. “Like ye asked.”

“Good. There’s extra for you.” Crowley passed an envelope to Tom’s lap, his fingers devastatingly close but never touching the younger man’s houndstooth trousers.

Anyone else and he’d have insisted on counting to make certain everything owed was there. Instead, Tom tucked the envelope inside his waxed cotton jacket, glancing away to scan the bar room for onlookers. 

“The Witchfinder Army thanks ye kindly, Mister Crowley.”

That got the older gent’s attention. In the mirror behind the bar, through the multicolored glass bottles of alcohol, Tom saw Crowley studying his profile, lips slightly parted, paused between truths and lies. Before Tom could turn to look, to glimpse honey colored eyes behind the silver aviator’s his ex sported those days—somehow complementing the thick moustache he’d grown in—Crowley had already returned to his sugar-rimmed cocktail, swallowing down whatever he’d have given up of himself if he’d spoken.

They drank in silence after that. Tom wasn’t asked about his new flat in North London, far from Mayfair. Crowley wasn’t asked about his probably-wife or if he ever missed what they’d shared. Minus the extra bread in the envelope, which might merely cover Tom’s discretion and a job done quickly, it was as if nothing ever existed between them.

Crowley paid for both their drinks as he stood from the barstool, stepping out on the empty side away from Tom. He paused for a moment, the air thick with words left unspoken since a midsummer night’s confession. Tom’s broken heart beat hopeful until the man he’d loved once upon a time said simply, “Enjoy your evening, Corporal Shadwell.”

He walked out of the bar, like he’d walked out of Tom’s prior flat, without so much as a handshake goodbye.

Had there ever been anything between them?

Shadwell ordered a Guinness. And another. And a couple shots for the road. Each bled into his veins like cold grief.

This had been the man he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, in whatever way they could, whatever way the world would give them. He’d been ready to risk anything for Tony. Everything.

They’d had fun, yeah? Been there for each other?

He hadn’t been ‘forever’. He’d been ‘for now’.

Why hadn’t he been good enough?

The evening still early yet, he wandered home to Jacobite Street, trying to keep his guts in because if he let his stomach curdle how would he stop everything else from escaping? Up the steps to his three room flat, boots heavy, he fumbled with his keys. They wouldn’t fit the lock. He laughed. He was a locksman and he couldn’t even get his own actual keys to work on his own actual door!

The laugh quickly changed to a sob and Tom sat down, haphazardly tossing his keys to the floor beside him and burying his face in his rough hands.

“Mister Shadwell?”

The door across the hall opened carefully. He wiped away the tears and attempted to pull on a mask of strength for the woman. Couldn’t have her thinking he couldn’t protect her if she needed him. Couldn’t allow anyone to see weakness.

“Mister Shadwell,” Tracy said again, her voice perfumed with pity. “Dear, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t even fool her. “Cannae open mah door.”

“Here. I’ll get it.” She bent for the keys and he let her take them. “Out drinking with the boys, have you? Yes, that makes these tricky things, won’t it? Come on, there’s a love. We’ll get you inside.”

He sniffled and followed, grateful beyond reason. It’d been so long since anyone was just kind, with no ulterior motive. Life had been full of unkindness, pettiness and cruelty. His heart felt light to feel her small warm hands on his shoulders, helping him up, leading him carefully into his home. She’d been there before, several times already. Wanting to gossip about her afternoon seances or share tea when she said she’d bought too much and didn’t want the food to spoil before she could get to it all. Always, they went to his. Never back to hers.

Tracy sat him on the upholstered couch next to a stack of newspapers he’d been sent by Witchfinder Sergeant Diceman and put on his kettle.

“Tea always helps,” she said. Tea always helped everything as far as she seemed concerned. Tom couldn’t argue.

He laid down on the couch. Fire swirled in his head beneath the booze, the image of his boss Mister Crowley walking out of the bar burned on the back of his eyelids, superimposed with his boyfriend Tony leaving his flat for the last time, talking about loving someone else and apologies that felt hollow.

“There.” Tracy showed up at his side with two cups, steaming and smelling sweet as she placed them on the low trunk he used as a table. He sat up so she could settle beside him, hands primly on her lap, waiting.

Tom gazed back at her through watery eyes. So patient, so kind. Waiting for anything and nothing, not judging him, not leaving him to fall back into his misery alone. When she opened her arms, the sleeves of her silk dressing gown fluttering, he fell into them. She dragged him close to her chest. He curled into a heaving, sobbing ball of a thing.

“Let it all out, love,” she whispered, holding him while he cried his broken heart out.

At last he found words, words that never failed him normally. “Thought I was over it. Didnae ken I could hurt anymore. Then,” he said, stuttering on a shaky breath, “there they are. Barely even seeing me. Did I mean anything to ‘em? Christ, was nearly five years together! An’ I get tossed aside like we were nothing?”

Tracy kissed him on the top of his head through his dark wavy blond hair, like one of his older sisters used to do. In that instant, after so many months lost, he knew what it was to feel safe again.

“Oh, dear, no,” Tracy said, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze. She soothed her other hand over his neck. “That was horrible of her. If anything, _she_ should be the one upset. Why! Dreamy catch like you? Oh, she’ll be crawling back, begging forgiveness. Lord knows I would.”

Tom barked with laughter at the image because he couldn’t ever see Tony humbling himself. His ex had so much more, always had, always would. But he liked to think that maybe Tony regretted any of the way it ended.

“I’d like tae see that,” he said and chuckled a little more. “I dinnae want them back, though. I… I want them tae…”

He didn’t know _what_ he wanted with Tony. Not revenge or anything so petty. He wanted Tony to be happy, but maybe just a little sad? Some proof the man regretted stringing him along for however many years, aware he’d leave if the one he loved came running. If only he’d ended it cleanly. If they’d been able to stay friendly.

Tommy Shadwell just wanted to be treated like a person. Not an asset.

“Whoever she was,” Tracy added, “she’s not worth your tears, I’d think.”

He took a long breath and sat up, disentangling from his neighbor’s doting embrace to reach for his tea cup and said firmly, “ _He_.”

Tracy quirked her head, her golden blonde hair falling against her cheeks. “What’s that, dear?”

He swallowed and glanced away, sipping his tea to cover his sudden discomfort. His eyes hurt from crying, but the tea was perfect. Just the way he liked it. Tracy had only known him for a month but she paid attention to him. It was nice to realise someone did. But... it seemed based on something Tom couldn’t just decide to change and give. Maybe Tony could set that part of himself aside, but he couldn’t. Even if he never loved again—and his heart felt certain it never would, so overflowing with memories of that man—he couldn’t deny which way he swung.

Tracy deserved the truth.

He set down the tea with a small, “Thank ye.” And then admitted, “I’m nae getting weepy over a lass.”

In the moments Tracy took to understand his words—both through his accent and his meaning—Tom braced for her rebuke. Then she looked him over, as if she should have been able to tell. She gave a riotous giggle and he flushed red.

“Ohh,” she said, tittering and blushing herself. “And here I am!”

“Please, Miss Tracy–”

“You’d think I could have picked up on it.”

Tom tucked his hands between his knees, allowing space for his neighbor to sort through her thoughts. She didn’t seem upset, at least, didn’t move to run away or threaten to get him thrown out on the street.

“Is... that all well?”

She tutted and playfully tapped his knee. “I work the go-go bars in Piccadilly, dear. I’ve my fair share of gay friends. Drag queens, too.”

Tom bristled a bit to hear her speak so plainly. These weren’t words he was used to people saying outloud, even in private. They spoke in code and slang, kept to the dark corners of the city to grow their fragile happiness.

“Ye didnae hae any clue?”

“Dearie, if I had, I’d have been upfront and asked. How embarrassing!”

He sniffled and wiped away tears. “Ye won’t ha’ ta worry. Won’t be bringing anyone back here.” He pulled on a righteous air. “Havnae plans to bring any shame on yer home.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant at all. Practically throwing myself at you, haven’t I been? No, no,” she said as she leaned in close and took him by the arm. “When you find a nice man, you bring him home. Understand?”

Tom shook his head. “Nae danger of that. Done wi’ it, I am.”

Tracy cooed and soothed her fingers across his shoulders. “Whoever he was did a number on you, didn’t he? Rotten man.”

Tom snickered, picturing Tracy standing up to Tony, calling him a con man and heart-breaker. “Thought I had him figured. If ever to see him mincing about in his gildy clobbers, ye’d catch him for a right duchess that one.” He sighed. “A bonnie lad.”

“Mm, met my share of them,” she said, abundantly sympathetic.

Tom was in it now. He pitched his voice low as he said, “Yoo’d think I’d be over him. But I saw him tonight at a bar. Weren’t a social call. Just work. Left me for a woman, he did. Last July.”

Tracy frowned. “Family pushed him to marry, did they?”

He shook his head. “They were acquainted afore me. When I asked who he was leaving for, he called her an _angel_.”

“ _An angel_.” Tracy tsked and set her jaw. She stood, near stamping her foot with determination. “You poor thing. Right. Up you go.”

“Wh–”

She took his hands, pulling him to his feet. “You’ve had a horrid day. I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Dinner…”

“My treat.”

Tom scoffed. “Aye, I’ll not ha’ ye spending yer wages on me.”

He was used to accepting charity wherever it came from, but with her? He knew Tracy worked hard at several jobs. She was too kind. He couldn’t in good conscience. He needed excuses, but none came to his tongue before she could quiet him.

“None of that,” she demanded. “Now, I could use a chippie and you look like you need one, too. Be right back, dearie.”

Tracy disappeared into her flat for a coat and a quick change of clothes—a fashionable pistachio-colored dress swinging at her knees and pink heeled boots that made her nearly as tall as Tom—so he took a minute to rinse the salt-lines from his face and scrub his scruffy beard. On their way to the corner fish-n-chip shop, Tracy held onto his arm. They looked like they could be any young couple heading out to enjoy the chilly April evening.

“You know, Mister Shadwell, I’ve been thinking,” she began, voice soft. “I tend to flirt a bit, don’t I? A professional habit at this point, you might say. Especially when I’m around _handsome_ young men like yourself.”

Tom caught her smirk and felt her eyes on him. He swallowed. The conversation seemed edging extremely close to ones he’d heard about ‘maybe he just needed to find the right woman to fix him’ and all that bollocks.

“But,” Tracy said brightly, “I can stop if it bothers you, dear. I don’t want you one smidgen uncomfortable. We’re neighbors. And friends?”

“Oh.” Tom relaxed slightly, his chest untightening. “Well. If it’s… friendly. That is… That’s all right then.”

Tracy perked up. “Is it?”

“I can– I can joke back wi’ ye, mibbe.” He thought for a moment before adding a grumbling, “Jezebel.”

Tracy’s painted lips curved and her blue-green eyes glinted with secret delight. She tucked her arm closer. “Flatterer.”

Shadwell steadied his breath as they arrived at the shop, the oily scent of fried food pungent and tantalizing even outside on the pavement. He wasn’t over the redhead in the sunglasses—part of him wondered if he might never get past Tony—but at least someone knew he was trying to be. Someone who wouldn’t judge him for where he laid his heart. A friend who seemed to care about him, looked out for him.

He held the door for Tracy. “After yoo.”

\- END -

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read "Everything You Do Is Sin", this is canon to that but 6 years later.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I would adore to hear what you think. :3


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